Something for the Weekend
by briroch
Summary: After a serious assault on Steve, Mike realises that someone is out to get at his partner. But the only person that hates him so much is in prison, or isn't he?
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:** This story is a sequel to "Cain and Abel" but can be read as a stand alone._

_A big thank you to my wonderful Beta Reader Tanith 2011 who finds the time to correct my stories. _

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters, I only borrow them for a short time, for fun and not for profit!_

**Something for the Weekend**

_**Friday Night **_

It was late on Friday night when Mike Stone heard an urgent knock on his door. "Who is it?" he asked cautiously, as he was not expecting any visitor to brave the pouring rain so late at night.

"It's me, Mike. Can I come in?"

Mike recognised the voice of his younger partner Steve Keller and rushed to open the door, knowing that Steve wouldn't call in the middle of the night unless there was a valid reason. Steve stumbled in and almost fell into his arms. Mike grabbed the young man to steady him and took in his appearance in a quick glance: soaked to the skin, shivering from the cold, torn shirtsleeves, battered face, some evidence of bleeding and bruising. Definitely an emergency.

"What happened? Are you alright? Let me look at you. We'd better get you out of your wet clothes, you must be freezing."

Steve shook his head, trying to answer at least one of the questions his mentor was firing at him. "Mike, I..." he attempted to say through chattering teeth.

"I'll better bring you straight to the hospital; you're hurt, aren't you?" Mike pressed.

Steve shook his head wearily. "Just cold. I only need to get out of the wet clothes." His teeth were still chattering and he was shivering violently.

"Okay, okay, we'll get you warmed up and then I'll have a look at you. But if I decide you need a doctor you'll just come with me without making a fuss. Deal?" The older man suggested.

Steve nodded his head in agreement, as Mike walked him to the bathroom. Mike switched on the shower to let the water heat up until it was steaming, while he helped Steve to undo buttons and buckles. The young man's hands were too stiff from the cold to be of much help with the job. When the shirt came off, Mike whistled.

"Who did this to you, buddy boy?" He could see bruises forming already, all the way down both sides of his ribs, as well as covering a large area of his abdomen. _Boots rather than fists_, Mike assumed. "I'll leave you to it and get some dry clothes for you. Please, don't lock the door; you look as if you might collapse any minute."

Again, Steve nodded in agreement and proceeded to peel off the rest of his wet clothes.

By the time Mike had returned with some sweats and more towels, Steve had finished his shower and had wrapped himself in some big bath towels. "I'm okay now."

"Yep, okay to go to the hospital. You put on these clothes and we'll get going. I saw enough when you took off your shirt. Those bruises need to be checked out." Mike's hand gently brushed Steve's wet hair out of his face. "And the cut here probably needs stitches."

The cut Mike was talking about had reopened under the jet of hot water and was hemorrhaging. Mike pressed a folded towel against the bleeding gash. "Buddy boy, you promised not to make a fuss. Here, you take a hold of the towel now. "

Steve nodded again, knowing that he was in no shape to argue with Mike, though all he wanted to do now was to curl up somewhere warm...

Mike carefully helped him to slip on some loose fitting sweatpants and a sweatshirt, before he bundled his protégé in his car, covering the still freezing young man with a blanket. During the short drive to the nearest hospital Mike tried again to get some information out of Steve. "What happened? Who did this to you?"

"Don't know, Mike. Three guys, I think. I remember two of them were holding me down while the other one worked me over, then someone hit me over the head," he recalled as best as he could.

"Okay, that's a start. Where did it happen? Where were you going?" Mike couldn't refrain from asking too many questions at the same time.

"Don't really know. I think I left for the corner shop more or less straight after you dropped me off. Needed some groceries," Steve sounded hesitant.

"But Steve, you couldn't have walked all the way from your apartment to my house, not in the state you were in!" Mike was appalled at the thought.

"I was in a car. I think they threw me out at some stage. I must have recognised the area and started walking towards your house. What else would I have done?"

"Sure, buddy boy, you did good. Do you remember where they threw you out?" Mike probed.

Steve described the area; Mike identified it as a small park, at least a 30 min walk from his house.

Well, any further questions would be of a medical nature, Mike decided when they arrived at the hospital.

"The people responsible knew what they were doing when they worked him over. Professionals. From the injuries he sustained and what the young man tells me, these men wanted to cause him a degree of pain without killing him," the Intern stated after a thorough examination and some x-rays. "His ribs are badly bruised, but fortunately there were no fractures. There doesn't seem to be any internal bleeding or organ damage, though the pain will be quite intense for at least the next few days. Now that the cut is stitched it will heal nicely and the concussion from the blow is only mild. But as he lives alone we'd better keep him over the weekend for observation."

"No way!" Steve protested. "I'm not staying. Please Mike, don't make me."

"Okay, okay, don't get worked up now. Doctor, if he came home with me, would that be alright? You can be sure he'll be watched."

Steve nodded vigorously, wincing as his head started throbbing with the sudden movement. "He'll watch me like a hawk and most of the time I'll even do what he tells me."

"You'd better!" Mike growled and proceeded to negotiate the release with the doctor.

* * *

Back at the house Mike led Steve to the sofa. "You lie down for a few minutes and relax while I make us a hot drink. You still look frozen."

He put on some coffee for himself, feeling it would be a long night and made tea for Steve. He smiled when he found the teabags at the back of a kitchen unit. Well, they must have been there for the best part of a year, ever since Steve had stayed with Mike for a few weeks, in protective custody, as Steve called it, while they were working on unmasking the man who was posing as Steve's long lost brother. The memory wiped the smile off Mike's face; the man had almost managed to kill Steve and was in St Quentin's now, serving life for two murders and an attempted murder.

Mike brought the cups into the family room and sat down next to Steve.

"Feeling better?" he asked kindly.

Steve nodded gingerly and took a sip of the hot liquid. "Still a bit cold, though."

"You must have been in those wet clothes for ages. What happened to your coat? Were you wearing it when you went to the shop?" Mike wanted to know.

Steve paused for a moment. "Yeah, I did. I literally went in, checked the fridge, grabbed a shopping bag and went out again, without stopping for anything else." Steve swallowed and his face turned a ghastly shade of grey.

"You mean, you brought everything with you?" Mike feared the answer he was almost sure he would receive.

"Yes, my wallet, my ID, my shield, oh my God, my .38! Keys, everything…" Steve stammered.

"Don't panic, I rang in the assault while you were having your x-rays taken, there's a black and white unit searching the Green as we speak. I'll ring again and get a unit out to your place in case the punks are trying to burgle you or get away with your car." Mike didn't mention the loss of Steve's service revolver. No need to stress how much damage could be done with the weapon, when Steve was too acutely aware of it already.

Mike watched his friend while he was making the phone call. He could see that Steve was struggling to stay awake and listen to the call, but exhaustion got the better of him and he fell asleep.

Mike fetched a blanket and wrapped it around the young man. He decided to let him sleep where he was for a two hour stretch, then he had to wake him up anyhow to check if he was responding. It was going to be a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Saturday Morning **_

Mike hadn't gotten much sleep himself, when his phone rang early on Saturday morning. It was Rudy Olson, the Captain. "Sorry for ringing so early Mike, but do you know where Steve might be?"

"He's asleep in my spare bedroom as we speak," Mike answered with a sinking feeling.

"Thank God! How long has he been there?" the Captain inquired.

"Well, since I moved him from my sofa at around three this morning. What's all this about?" Mike was getting anxious.

"I'll come to that in a minute. When did he arrive at your place?" The interrogation continued.

"It was shortly after eleven; I had just switched off the TV and was getting up to go to bed, when he knocked on the door," Mike explained.

"And he was with you the whole time?" Rudy stressed his point across.

"Sure, except for the few minutes when he had x-rays taken at the hospital and I made the phone call reporting the assault," Mike assured.

"Thank God, Mike. Someone went on a shooting spree with young Keller's .38 and left his ID prominently at every crime scene." Olson sounded relieved at first that his worst fears were vanquished but concerned that someone was using the Inspector's weapon to harm others.

"You wouldn't believe for a minute that Steve is capable of doing this?!" Mike was outraged.

"Of course not, and nobody who knows him would believe it either, but having an airtight alibi for the time between midnight and four certainly helps. So we are under no obligation to prove his innocence," Rudy clarified.

"And I thought our law said innocent until proven guilty!" Mike was still put out on behalf of his protégé.

"Oh, come on Mike, you know what the media is like if there is even the tiniest rumour that a policeman could be involved in a crime," the Captain pacified. "Any idea who might've set him up?"

Mike was as stumped as his superior was. Who hated the young man so much to set up such an elaborate scheme?

Mike was still staring at the receiver when Steve appeared in the doorway. His awkward, doubled over posture betrayed the pain he was in.

"I heard you shouting. What's wrong?" Steve queried.

"Oh, nothing, you know me, I get heated up over something small and blow off steam. Sit down; you shouldn't be up at all!" Mike started fussing over the young man, partly to distract him, and partly because he was concerned when he noticed the stark contrast of his pale features and the dark bruises on his partner's face.

"Forget it, I'm not going back to bed" Steve protested.

"Of course not, why would you? How about…"Mike pretended to think carefully," the sofa?" He pushed Steve towards the family room and helped him prop himself up with cushions and pillows to support his aching ribs.

"Are you comfortable now?" Mike inquired.

"As comfortable as can be," Steve answered, a thin film of sweat forming on his forehead.

Mike looked at him with sympathy. "You're hurting, aren't you, buddy boy? Well, you're due for your next dose of pain killers as soon as you have something to eat. Rudy will join us for breakfast in a little while."

"For a social call? Stop kidding me and spill it. What's going on?" Steve demanded and tried to get up again. "Didn't we agree about a year ago that you'd stop treating me like a kid when it comes to things concerning me?"

"Whatever gave you the idea I'd treat you like a child?" Mike joked and ruffled the young man's hair. "Sorry, Steve, I sometimes just want to break the news gently, but I don't think there is an easy way to say this. Someone used your .38 for a shooting spree in the early hours of this morning."

"Oh, man!" Steve sighed. "Why didn't I take the holster off and leave the piece at home?"

"They still might have taken the gun from the flat; after all they got the keys, so stop fretting! And don't ask me about details, Rudy hasn't filled me in yet, but he'll be here soon." The older man tried to calm him.

"Why were you so angry on the phone?" Steve insisted on getting to the bottom of it.

"Because somebody is trying to frame you. They left your ID all over the place, your keys, your driving licence, your badge. Thank God I had you right under my nose the whole time, so we won't have to bother clearing your name." Mike decided not to hold back the information any longer.

"Oh, man!" Steve sighed again. "This is a nightmare."

"Try and relax for a while now while I put on some coffee. Rudy will be here soon and then we'll know more." Mike tried to calm his friend.

Steve closed his eyes and leaned back. Thoughts were whirling round his aching head, but he couldn't make sense of what was happening. The only person who hated him enough for doing this to him was in jail, wasn't he? The familiar sounds of Mike busying himself in the kitchen, muttering under his breath was so soothing and comforting that Steve's eyes closed.

When the doorbell rang, he woke up with a start. As he tried to sit up, he let out an involuntary gasp of pain, his arms bracing his sore ribs.

"Easy, buddy boy, easy," Mike scolded gently as he went to open the door. "It's only Rudy, no need to stand up and salute."

The Captain entered and looked at Steve with a concerned expression on his face. "How are you, Keller?"

"M'alright," Steve mumbled and tried to get up once again.

"Stay where you are. You certainly look sore. What's the damage, Mike?"

Mike briefly recapped what the doctor had said the night before, while Steve impatiently tried to get his questions in.

"What happened with my revolver? Was somebody hurt?" He eventually interrupted.

Olson sighed and cleared his throat. "There were three separate shootings, two were meant to draw attention, nobody was harmed, and I guess the shooter didn't even aim at a person, he took a couple of pot shots. He dropped your shield at the first and your driving license at the second. The third was a shoot to kill, probably to get even with someone. The victim is a well-known criminal. Does the name Bobby Meyers ring a bell?"

Steve shook his hand and looked questioningly at Mike. Stone shrugged his shoulders. "He has probably traded info for an easy let off, like so many. Nothing special comes to mind, though. But it's definitely worthwhile looking into."

"Even if you hadn't been under Mike's eagle eyes this entire time, a set up was screaming all over the place. Somebody might be careless enough to leave ID at one crime location, but not at three!" Olson tried to comfort his young detective.

Over breakfast the three men bounced off ideas on who might be behind the assault and the shooting. After having taken his pain killers Steve went back to lie down on the sofa, the pain of sitting was getting too much for him. Olson and Mike joined him with fresh cups of coffee. Stretched out, with his eyes closed and waiting for the medication to take effect, Steve looked as if he was going to sleep when all of a sudden he started talking again. "You will probably think the knock on my head has done me some permanent damage, but I get the idea that Henry Swale is behind it..."

He referred to the man who had tried to take on the identity of Steve's dead brother a year earlier.

"He is the only one who hates me enough to come up with a scheme like this."

"Well, Steve, the thought has crossed my mind too, but he is safely locked away in San Quentin's," Mike said.

"I actually checked it this morning," Rudy clarified. "And he is."

"What about cell mates?" Steve asked

"What do you mean?" the Captain prodded.

"You're onto something there, boy wonder. If a cell mate has been recently released, he could have given him the job to work you over..." Mike thought out loud.

"And got a gun for his troubles," Steve sighed.

Olson stood up and went over to Mike's phone. "I'll get that checked out right away."

While the Captain was on the phone Steve looked at Mike, despair in his eyes. "Mike, will it ever end?"

Mike was at a loss what to say. The case didn't bode well. If it was Henry Swale who pulled the strings, it would be hard preventing a repeat performance every time one of his mates got out of jail. It was unlikely he'd find someone willing to kill a cop to do Swale a personal favour, but roughing up a policeman was a different story. Mike knew that a bright detective like Steve must have come to the same conclusion.

"We'll have to nip this in the bud and put the fear of God into anyone who dares to touch you. That should discourage Swale's mates from doing him a favour," Mike said with a grim expression on his face. To lighten the mood he added with a sweet smile, "And if that doesn't work I'll have to keep you in protective custody for the rest of your days!"

Steve chuckled politely and hugged his ribs again. "Please, Mike, no more jokes, the bad ones really hurt!"

Mike grinned and pretended to give him a dig in the ribs.

"No, Mike, no!" Steve squealed in mock horror.

"When you finished tormenting the poor boy, Mike, I've ordered a list of recent releases from St Quentin and I'll have them cross checked against Meyers and Swale. "

Mike was still laughing. "I'm never through with tormenting this poor boy, he expects it and I hate to disappoint him." He tried a more serious expression. "Could you have someone come over here with the files? I'd like to start as soon as possible, but I have to keep annoying young Steve for another while. The observation period isn't up yet and I still have to wake him up every two hours and ask difficult questions."

"Come on, Mike, I'm really okay now. No reason why we shouldn't go over to the bureau..." Steve tried to plead with his mentor.

"Nope, last night when I sprung you from hospital you promised to do whatever you are told and I'll hold you to your word of honour, Smiley!"

"Aw Mike..."

Rudy Olson watched the exchange between the two partners with slight exasperation. "When you two are done goofing around….Keller, there is no way I'll let you go back on duty until a doctor finds you fit to work. You stay here and rest – that is, if Mike lets you," He added with a wicked smile.

"I'll send someone over with copies of the files as soon as we have some possible suspects. In the meantime, you try and get some rest, too, Mike. It must be exhausting thinking up all the difficult questions." Olson put his coffee cup on the table and left.

Mike started gathering the empty cups and went towards the kitchen when Steve called him back.

"Mike, you're not serious about this observation business, are you? You've helped me to get out of hospital before and let me go back to work, so come on now!"

"That may be so, but not when you got a knock on your head. Besides, you are so sore that you can barely sit let alone move. Even if I let you do desk duties, we'd have to bring in a camp bed for you to stretch out on every so often. So just forget it and try to get some sleep. There will be plenty to do when Rudy sends us the files." Mike smiled warmly. "I know it is frustrating; you'll just have to grin and bear it. Maybe tomorrow we can go over to your place and you can find out if something is missing. Lessing made sure the locks got changed. He reckons the place wasn't touched..." Stone stopped talking, when he noticed that Steve had fallen asleep again. He quietly went about doing some household chores, knowing that the two hours of unbroken sleep would be over too soon.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Saturday, early afternoon **_

"Steve?" Mike ran his hand through Steve's hair and patted his cheek lightly. "Steve? Will you wake up for a moment?"

"Oh, not again... How's a man supposed to get some sleep around here, when you insist on poking and prodding me every couple of minutes? Will this observation period never end?" Steve groaned.

"It's actually over now and I need to go out for a little while. Will you be alright on your own? There's a black and white unit parked outside the house, but I'm sure we could get someone to come in and..."

Steve finished the sentence for him "...babysit me? No thanks, I'm perfectly fine on my own, I don't think someone is going to break in and steal me."

"Wiseguy! I' m more concerned about your health. You feel a bit warm. Are you sure you are alright?" Mike put his hand briefly back on Steve's cheek, withdrawing it quickly to avoid a swat from the young man.

"Stop playing the mother hen, I'm fine."

"Okay then, I'll leave the phone here within easy reach, but don't answer the door." Mike cautioned.

Steve interrupted him with a big grin on his face. "Mother said, my Conrad dear, I go out but you stay here!"

Mike looked at him blankly. "You are raving, my boy. What's all this about?"

Steve suppressed a merry laugh and held his ribs. "You know my paternal grandfather's family came from Germany and there was this children's book called Struwwelpeter I got from a kindly- or not so kindly- old grandaunt who translated the text that went with the gruesome pictures for me. My mother was not impressed. I had nightmares for weeks." He smiled at the puzzled expression on Mike's face. "You obviously don't know it- cautionary tales for the children, terrible consequences for disobedience; I thought it would be a book after your heart- _The Mike Stone School of Intimidation_." He laughed and then gasped for breath, as every movement still hurt his ribs.

Mike looked at him with mild amusement. "I'm glad you're getting some laughs out of my paternal concern. But just tell me, what happened to little Curt or Conrad or whatever his name was?"

"He got his thumbs cut off for sucking them," Steve told him.

"Hmm, it does sound like a good book after all. And what happens to the child that opens the door?" Mike began to enjoy the drift of the conversation.

"I can't recall such a story from the book." Steve was slightly puzzled.

"What a sad omission! Well, you'd better not risk it, or you'll find out that my imagination is far worse than anything in the book. Tickling your ribs would be the kindest thing I can think of right now!" Mike quipped and put on his hat and coat. "I won't be long and I'll sneak back in quietly, so I'd better find you in a lying or sitting position!"

He looked at his young partner fondly. Mike was glad to see him in such good spirits. His biggest fear had been that the possible involvement of Henry Swale might have caused all the emotions to resurface again, that Steve had struggled to deal with a year ago and that had brought him near breaking point.

* * *

Mike went straight to the Bureau, where Rudy Olson had collected all files of recent releases from St. Quentin for Stone.

"Haseejian cross checked them all and made a priority list for you. What do you want to do first?" Olson asked.

"I think I'll go to St Quentin and talk to the warden and some of the guards and maybe even the man himself."

"Wouldn't you be better off taking someone with you?" Rudy tended to err on the side of caution.

"Nah, I don't think so, the way he reacts to me I might provoke him into saying too much. He is a vain man; he likes to show off his cleverness," Mike explained the reason behind his decision.

Mike's first port of call was the warden who went through the list, but couldn't come up with any possible links. He pointed Mike towards the guards that he thought had had the most contact with the former inmates on the list.

"Huey Finch... oh yeah, I know him well, not very bright but considers himself quite smart, yeah, he'd fall for a trick like that. As far as I know he had it in for Meyers, but his former cell mate might know more..."

"Huey and Meyers- lots of bad blood there. Meyers ran off with Huey's wife after she sold him out... Don't tell me he's got into trouble already!"

"Yeah, Huey shared a cell with Swale at some stage, never thought they were particularly pally, but..."

"Swale? Wouldn't trust him. I don't think he'll make a confession, but if you want to talk to him and rattle his cool, I'll get him for you..."

After having talked to several of the guards, Mike had his prime suspect. He mad a quick phone call to the Bureau to bring Huey Finch in for questioning, then he went to see Henry Swale.

Stone wasn't looking forward to the encounter; there was something profoundly evil about the man that seemed to leave you feeling tainted after a confrontation with him.

"What a surprise, Lieutenant Stone! And where is your side kick? I hope he is not unwell?" Swale greeted Mike with a smirk.

"Just a little social call to see how you are enjoying your stay in St Quentin. I was wondering if you would like to stay a little longer, perhaps. Your pal Finch is singing like the bird of the same name, and he wants to share the proceeds of his latest little venture with you." Mike opened the conversation with a straight face, though he fought hard to keep his emotions in check.

"Finch? I can't recall anyone of that name. No idea what you are talking about. What did he do?" Swale played innocent.

"We have him for murder and assault."

Swale's smirk grew wider. "Don't tell me he touched your little buddy! That certainly would make you mad enough to pin a murder on him. You know what, Stone? I thought that when I get out of here I'd kill you first and let young Keller watch, but I think it will be much more fun to let you watch while I slowly kill him. So slowly that you will wish him dead and beg me to end his suffering."

Mike turned away to hide the fury that rose deep within him. So much evil and malevolence! The man must be insane. Thank God he was safely behind bars- but to think that even from prison he could harm Steve.

Mike made another phone call to the Bureau to find out that Finch was not to be found yet.

After a quick stop at the supermarket he went back to the house, waving at the black and white unit as he let himself in.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: **Thank you everybody for following my story, much appreciated. And a big thanks to Tanith 2011 for finding the time for Beta reading. _

_**Saturday evening **_

Mike sat on the armchair opposite the sofa and watched Steve tossing in an uneasy sleep. When he had returned earlier that afternoon he had found his partner flushed and hot, obviously unwell. Steve had put up little protest when Mike marched him to the car, headed for the hospital once more.

The doctor on duty went through the previous night's file and did not seem surprised that the patient had caught a cold after being in wet clothes for a prolonged period of time. His only concern was that Steve might develop a cough, which would aggravate the pain of the badly bruised ribs. He also cautioned about pneumonia, as the patient would find it very hard to cough up all the mucus because of the pain involved. He prescribed a cough suppressant and antibiotics as a precaution and offered to keep Steve in for a couple of days.

Mike readily gave in to Steve's pleas and brought him home again; he felt that after his recent encounter with Henry Swale, he would rest easier watching over Steve himself.

He desperately wanted to talk to Steve about the recent developments. He was so used to having his partner to bounce off ideas with and hearing Steve's own input. But the last thing he wanted to do now was to disturb the sick young man.

For the third time he went to his bedroom to make yet another phone call to the Bureau. There was still no news on Finch. Lessing and Haseejian were checking out the man's friends and associates for his whereabouts and to find out who could possibly have been involved in beating up Steve.

Mike felt ill at ease; the encounter with Henry Swale had left him strangely unsettled. When the doorbell rang he took his .38 out of the desk drawer before he approached the door.

"It's Lenny! Can I come in?" A familiar voice called out.

The detective felt slightly foolish and hid the gun under a folded newspaper, before he opened the door.

"I hope I'm not intruding, but I wanted to check how Steve is doing," Lenny explained his presence.

The previous year Lenny Murchison, the department's psychiatrist, had helped Steve deal with his loss and remembered only too well how devastating the encounter with Henry Swale had been for the young man. When Olson had informed him about the attack on Steve and Swale's possible involvement, he felt that Steve and Mike too, might need some support.

"Very nice of you to give up your Saturday evening," Mike remarked.

Lenny grinned, "Not at all. My wife is having her girlfriends over. The coven, as I call them. Any excuse to get away from them."

Mike laughed and took his visitor's coat.

"How is Steve?" Murchison asked with concern.

Mike looked over to the sofa where his friend was still sleeping.

"He's running a temperature, he's as sore as hell and he's completely exhausted. Maybe I forgot to mention the headache." Mike listed all the ailments and discomforts that his young partner was subjected to.

"He must be bushed to sleep through the bell ringing and us talking. How is he coping with everything?" Lenny winced.

Mike didn't answer straight away, but went over to the sofa and put his hand on Steve's forehead. Steve opened his eyes and blinked. "I'm fine, Mike. You're wearing the skin of my forehead thin from feeling it all the time," he mumbled sleepily. "Hi Lenny!" he added when he saw Murchison at Mike's side, but then he closed his eyes and went back to sleep again.

Mike beckoned Lenny over to the kitchen where the usual pot of coffee was perking. He took out some cups and plates from the cupboard then brought out some Danishes, too. "To come back to your question, Lenny, he's doing ok I guess. He was even upbeat and kept cracking jokes, that is until he started to get a fever." Mike then filled in his colleague on the unsettling encounter with Henry Swale earlier that day.

"Swale really got under your skin," Lenny remarked. "Even though he is in jail you still consider him a threat to Steve."

Mike tried to play it down, but the psychiatrist interrupted him. "I don't have to be a detective to come to that conclusion. Since we left the living room, you have been peering through the door and never took your eyes off Steve. He is sick alright, but he doesn't need constant watching. Your gun is hidden under the newspaper over there; you normally keep it in a drawer. It took you ages to open the door..."

Mike smiled and held up his hands in defence. "You got me there. I know I'm not being rational, but Swale really rattled me today. He is determined to do Steve some serious harm, if only to get at me. You're the expert here when it comes to the human mind. Tell me, can the man be sane?"

Lenny was quiet for a while and frowned. "I can't say without assessing him, but there is a possibility that he is insane. Do you want me to get in touch with the prison doctor?"

Now it was Mike who didn't answer for a few minutes. He took a big gulp of coffee and sighed.

"If he was declared as mentally unstable he'd have an easier life in an institution than in prison."

"Yes," Lenny answered "but maybe he'd get the treatment that he needs to get better. He might not be a threat to Steve anymore."

"But he might be back out on the streets at some stage," Mike voiced his greatest fear.

"That's a possibility, too," the psychiatrist conceded.

"You know, Lenny, I hate to say this, I have never wished anyone dead before. It's against my deepest conviction to do so, but I think death is all that can stop Swale."

Both men sat in silence for a long time.

"Does Steve know about your visit to St Quentin yet?" Lenny eventually broke the silence.

"No," Mike admitted. "He was too miserable when I returned, but I'll tell him tomorrow morning, as soon as he is alert."

"You do that, Mike. If you need my help in any way, don't hesitate to call me and I'll be over in a flash. My mother in law is coming to visit tomorrow," he added with a wry smile.

Mike thanked Lenny before the psychiatrist decided that his host needed some rest and decided it was his cue to leave. Mike showed him out the door, feeling no less protective of his protégé but a little better after unloading his thoughts to Lenny.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Sunday, early morning **_

"How's my favourite boy this morning?"

Steve winced as he tried to sit up, regretting the sudden movement as soon as he had attempted it. "I assume you are talking to me. So the answer is - better than the last time you saw me, I think."

The last time had only been a few hours ago, when Mike had helped Steve through a violent fit of coughing.

Neither Steve nor Mike had spent a restful night. In spite of the young man's vehement protests, Mike had insisted on rushing into Steve's room every time he heard the racking cough. He had helped him into a sitting position, coaxed him into breathing deeply and supplied him with hot drinks and water. It was only in the early hours of the morning that Steve fell into a deep and healing sleep.

"I think your temperature has gone down. Do you want to get up for breakfast?" Mike asked.

"It is not a want, it is a must. You know, more people die in bed than sitting on chairs," Steve quipped.

"Very true, wiseguy. Is that what you learned at College?"

"Among other things, yes. One of the other things I learned was that you treat your elders and betters with the respect they deserve." The expression on his face changed from a smirk to a look of seriousness and he locked eyes with Mike. "I am really grateful for what you did for me last night. That went way beyond the call of duty."

Mike patted the young man's shoulders. "Not at all, buddy boy, I think I got away lightly. When I found you in the cabbage patch, you were reasonably self-contained already. I didn't have to deal with any of the nasty stuff. "

Steve laughed. "I get the drift, but believe it or not, I was allegedly a very good baby, almost dribble free and as a bonus skipped most childhood diseases."

"You better not catch any now; I'm way too old for more all-nighter's." Mike warned lightheartedly.

While Mike prepared breakfast, Steve had showered and put on another of Mike's tracksuits.

"Here, you need some food, you didn't eat much yesterday." Mike handed the young man a heaped plate.

Steve looked at Mike, puzzled. "Of course I didn't eat much yesterday, I was asleep for most of the day if you recall. I'm starving and I'll eat anything you put in front to me, except anchovies, maybe."

"That's good, Steve, that's good. " Mike was satisfied and for a while he watched the young man eat.

Steve looked up from his scrambled eggs and eyed Mike suspiciously. "What's the matter? You're acting like you've never seen me eat? When have I ever turned down food? Oh..." Steve paused. He remembered, about a year ago, when he and Mike had worked on the Henry Swale case, he had lost his appetite.

"Steve, I'm glad you are eating and I'm delighted you are taking it so well, but last year..." Mike didn't finish his sentence either and he didn't need to.

"I remember it too, but this is different. Okay, he can send his goons to hurt me, but that only affects me. There is no one left in my family he can harm. He and I, that's all and I can deal with that." He studied Mike's face. "Is there something else you're not telling me?"

The older man was evasive. "There's a lot I haven't told you, obviously, as you did your Sleeping Beauty act yesterday. I'll fill you in over another cup of coffee when you've finished eating."

Steve pushed his plate away. "Then it's something bad. Spill it or I'll go on hunger strike." He looked at Mike expectantly. "Wait a minute, Mike. The painkillers really slow me down and my brain is a mush. He can still get at me through you and Jeannie. Oh my God!" he grew visibly agitated.

"No, Steve, you're on the wrong track. I don't think he really believed Jeannie was my daughter, he most probably thought she was a policewoman ringing him to set him up. And besides, his target has changed. In his distorted mind he decided that I'm the villain number one now and he wants to get to me through hurting you."

Mike filled Steve in on all that had come to light the previous day, including his conversation with Lenny regarding Swale's mental health.

Steve sat with a cup of coffee in his hand, studying the pattern on the tablecloth carefully. "I don't know what to make of this. He does appear deranged, doesn't he? How can he see himself as a victim after he more or less wiped out my family? I can understand that he hates me for standing in the way of the inheritance he had hoped to get, but why you?"

"He knew from the beginning that I didn't like him or trust him. He reckons that without me in the picture, he might have won you over and gained your confidence," Mike gave his opinion.

"In layman's term, let's call him mad. I think my aunt, who was the most forgiving person would have wanted him assessed. He can't be normal. But why did he never use a plea of insanity in his defense?" Steve thought out loud.

"Megalomania? We'll talk to Lenny later on. Last night he told me that he was looking for a reason to get away from his mother in law. Let's give him that reason"

Before Mike had a chance to put the dishes away, the phone rang. Steve watched him with apprehension.

"Okay, buddy boy, things are moving. Haseejian found our man Huey hiding out with his ex-wife, now the widow of Bobby Meyers. She has quite a tale to tell. Now, Smiley, what are we going to do with you while I'm gone?"

"Come on, Mike, I'm fine. I'm going with you, of course," Steve insisted.

The older man hesitated. "You were really sick last night, you need to rest."

"What do you think I'll be doing? Running around the office and jumping over desks? I'll only be sitting in on an interrogation and Finch doesn't know I didn't recognise him, does he? "Steve pleaded with his friend.

"Well, I suppose so. But you'll come back home with me for another night or two, won't you?" It didn't take Mike long to give in, somehow he was happier having Steve with him than leaving him alone.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Sunday, later in the morning **_

"The greatest comeback since Lazarus," Olsen greeted his youngest team member. "You looked like death warmed over yesterday and now you are moving."

Steve grinned and sat down gingerly. Haseejian came over and scrutinised him. "Boy, I'm glad I didn't see you yesterday then, I'm too sensitive for all this suffering. But tell me one thing - how could you have looked worse yesterday?"

Mike put an end to the banter and demanded the transcript from the interview with Mrs Meyers. Steve and Mike read simultaneously, with the Lieutenant leaning over his protégé's shoulder.

"Okay, this should nail him unless she withdraws her statement and goes for reconciliation. Let's recap: She left Finch for Meyers, Meyers ratted on Finch, so Finch earned five years for robbery and Meyers got the lady. By the time Finch was released, things had gone pear shaped in the Meyers household and the lady was used as a punching bag on occasions. Now with the old ex-hubby back in the picture she confides her misery and he promises to take care of it all. According to her, she was thinking that a divorce will suffice and maybe giving him some of his own medicine, but never murder," Mike finished his summary.

"She would, wouldn't she?" Haseejian chimed in. "I'm sure she'd trade information on the assault on Steve for any criminal charges she could be facing. She's not the kind of lady who would fancy herself in a prison jumpsuit."

"And let her get away with murder?" Steve was disgusted.

Olson joined the discussion, "We'll have a snowball's chance in hell to prove it. Maybe we should settle for the safer bet and make sure everyone in St Quentin knows that whoever touches a police officer will be back behind bars before the ink on the release papers dries. I think we'll leave it to Gerry O'Brien to negotiate the deal. Why don't you and Mike talk to our friend in the office over there?"

"Here we meet again!" Steve greeted Finch when he walked into the interrogation room. "I wonder if you are as brave when you have no helpers holding down your victim."

Finch looked at him with a puzzled expression on his face. "How could you recognise me, I was wearing a stocking mask."

Mike suppressed a laugh. The prison guard's assessment of Finch had been spot on. Not particularly bright was gross flattery. Even without the ex-wife's testimony, he had already confessed to the crime. The interrogation was going to be a piece of cake.

Within an hour Finch had confessed to the murder of Meyers, but claimed it was committed out of self-defense.

"We'll leave that to a Court of Law to decide," Mike said. "But it might help your case if you come clean about the assault on Inspector Keller. Why did you agree to do Swale this favour?"

Huey looked at the detective in disbelieve. "How did you find that out? Swale would have never told you."

"He has told me, obviously. He wasn't too happy that you fluffed it by killing someone," Mike bluffed.

"Look, I'll tell you everything, but promise me I'll go to a different prison! The mad bastard would kill me!"

And the sorry tale unfolded. A not too bright and gullible criminal believed the half feared, half admired cell mate. Huey bought the story of the innocent victim who was framed by the policeman brother who refused to acknowledge the rightful claim. So after his release, Huey roped in his ex-wife's brother and a friend to help him with the revenge for his cell mate. Part of the bargain was using Steve's revolver on several occasions and leave some ID behind to show the policeman brother what it is like to be framed. The actual shooting was Huey's idea, promoted by the ex-wife's brother who bore Meyers a grudge for roughing up his sister.

In spite of his sore ribs and tender abdomen, Steve felt almost sorry for Finch. When Finch was delivered into the care of officer Sekulovic to take down the testimony formally and the two detectives were alone in Mike's office, Steve stretched gingerly to ease the stiffness in his aching body.

Mike watched him with a serious expression on his face. "Don't even say it, buddy boy."

"Say what?" Steve asked with a smile.

"That you feel sorry for Finch and that you don't want to press charges," Mike sighed. Sometimes he knew his protégé just too well.

"I didn't know you were psychic. Where is your crystal ball?" Steve tried to make light of the situation.

"No need for a crystal ball, I can read your face like a book. The chap was tricked by Swale, but the way he worked you over was vicious, and nobody forced him into killing Meyers. Don't forget, we need to set an example, or Swale will find another volunteer to rough you up. The next one might do you some lasting damage," Mike warned.

"Okay, you're right, but forgive me if I don't bow to your experience - the ribs are too sore."

"I think the boys here are well able to wrap up the rest, let's get you home so that you can have a lie down and some more pain killers," Mike suggested quickly.

"That's fine with me Mike, but could we swing by my place first so that I can pick up some clothes? Your tracksuits are a bit too big for me," Steve reminded him.

Mike suppressed an amused chuckle; it was so out of character for the young man who was usually a snazzy dresser, to be seen at work wearing ill-fitting casual clothes.

"We'll do that, no problem. Hadn't we planned on checking your apartment today anyhow?"

"Hey, Steve, I'd better give you the new keys to your place." Lessing had overheard part of the conversation and handed his colleague a bunch of shiny new keys. "I got you four spares cut. I didn't know how many you will need for the girlfriends," he added with a smirk.

"Pardon me for not laughing," Steve replied with a forced smile "but it really hurts my ribs."

"By the way, the place looks okay; I don't think anybody entered your apartment, but we dusted window sills and door handles all the same. I emptied out your letter box as well," Lessing told him.

"Thanks, Lee, I really appreciate that. You didn't water my plants by any chance?"

Lessing laughed. "I decided to leave that to the experts. The only plants I'm interested in are the greens on my dinner plate."

On the way out Olson stopped the young detective. "You go take care of yourself now and I don't want to see you until the bruises are faded and you can move without looking like you're about to keel over."

"Don't worry, Rudy, I'll see to that," Mike promised with an evil smile.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Sunday afternoon **_

After a quick stop for a sandwich Mike steered the car towards Steve's apartment. He could perfectly understand why his partner was so eager to check out his home, but he knew that the badly bruised and sore young man needed rest. So when they arrived at Steve's house, Mike felt the need to negotiate a compromise.

After a cursory examination of the place he steered Steve towards the sofa and urged him to stretch out for a while. "I'll get a few clothes packed for you and water the plants you were so concerned about earlier on," Mike suggested.

When Steve readily gave in, he realised that he had been right with his assessment of his partner. He must have been exhausted after the beating he had taken and the infection he was still fighting. Mike handed him a handful of mail that Lessing had taken in from the mailbox.

"Here, you sort out your bills and love letters while I do the serious household chores." He winked at him and went across the hall to Steve's bedroom in order to pack a bag for him. As he went through the young man's wardrobe he picked a few loose fitting and comfortable sweats, all that Steve would likely be wearing for another couple of days. On his way to the bathroom he heard Steve calling out his name and rushed over.

"Are you alright? What's the matter?"

Steve wordlessly handed him a letter. Mike quickly skimmed through its contents and anger rose deep within him as he read:

_Dear brother,_

_I hope you liked the little present that I got delivered to you! I was so sorry I couldn't be there in person, but I will make sure I'll come and see you as soon as possible. You may remember the promise I made the last time we met and I am a man who likes to keep his word._

_Until we meet again, _

_Your brother R_

Mike fought the urge to crumple up the piece of paper and placed it in a clean sandwich bag instead. He sighed. "There may be some prints."

"Yeah," Steve sounded disheartened. "But what's in the letter? It's not really threatening, is it?"

Mike had to agree. "He is a clever son of a so and so."

"Mike?" Steve looked at him. "Do you think he believes it now that he's my brother? Is he mentally ill; delusional?"

"Buddy boy, I don't know. We should pick Lenny's brain; he's the expert after all. Swale could just be trying to rattle you, you know?" He looked around him. "I think we're done here. I'll get a black and white unit to bring the letter to the lab and we can go back to my place. Lenny said he'd call over later on."

They were lucky, as a patrol car was close by and within minutes the two colleagues were on their way down the steps to the car. Mike went on ahead, carrying Steve's overnight bag. His intention was to come back and assist his friend downstairs, but Steve was determined to make it under his own steam. So, when he saw a white envelope sticking out of his letter box he just grabbed it and pushed it in the pouch of the hoodie he was wearing. By the time Mike had the bag stowed in the trunk of the car, Steve had made his way down, smiling proudly. Mike grabbed the back of his neck and shook him gently. "Like watching baby's first steps! Now, let's get you to a couch or a bed. You look like you could do with some proper rest."


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N: **The story is coming to an end, thank you all for reading, reviewing and following it. I appreciate it very much. There will be a sequel, the third and final part of the Cain and Abel saga. So far it is only in the planning stages, but I will post my first Crossover story (SOSF/Ironside) soon._

_**Sunday evening **_

When Lenny Murchison called over Mike Stone's home later that evening, he found a completely different picture from the night before. Steve was looking much better. He was alert and awake, though, obviously still in pain. He was stretched out on the couch, but scrambled to his feet when he saw the visitor, very much to Mike's exasperation.

_All back to normal, or is it?_ Lenny wondered.

Lenny greeted Steve and after a bit of chit chat they inevitably sat down with cups of coffee.

"So, Mike, what's your question, or were you just throwing me a life-line to get away from my mother-in-law?" Lenny went down to business.

"Well, Lenny, we do have some questions for the expert that you are. Here, have a look at this letter." Mike handed him a copy of the letter they had found in Steve's apartment earlier that day.

Lenny read through it quickly and looked up again. "Swale?"

"Who else? We're assuming he got Finch to hand deliver the letter."

"Lenny, our question really is, does he believe his own story now?" Steve came out with what had been preying on his mind ever since he found the letter.

"You mean, is he insane?" The psychiatrist needed to clarify.

"I guess so." Steve was hesitant to answer.

"It can be evaluated." Lenny remained evasive. "Mike asked me something along the same line last night."

"Steve, would it make any difference to you?" Mike asked gently. He had a fair idea what was going on in Steve's head.

"I don't know. Maybe." Steve was just as evasive as Lenny and didn't look up.

"Buddy boy, an insane man can be as dangerous as a sane man, maybe even more so," Mike reasoned.

"I know that, Mike, it's just that…" Steve stopped mid-sentence. The room was quiet, so quiet Lenny could hear the clock ticking.

The psychiatrist kept completely silent, as he watched and listened to what was unfolding. He felt that there was more to the story than what Steve was letting on.

"What is it then?" Mike probed and then reached out to put his hand on Steve's shoulder.

Steve took a deep breath and looked at Mike at last. "I guess insanity would make it easier for me to understand why he did what he did."

_Insanity rather than pure evil…_ yes, it made sense to Lenny, but he didn't want to interfere with what was going on between the partners.

Mike patted Steve's shoulder reassuringly. "I suppose so. You wouldn't expect reason behind insanity."

Steve nodded, all the while holding Mike's gaze.

"But you know what it could mean?" Mike asked tentatively.

Steve nodded again, never breaking eye contact.

"And could you live with it?" there was a certain urgency in Mike's voice now.

Lenny, as often before, wondered about the special bond between the two partners, the mutual understanding and the closeness, the ability to understand half sentences, almost like reading each other's minds.

Steve hesitated, but Mike took the tiniest shrug of his partner's shoulders as an answer.

"We'll deal with that when it comes to pass then, I guess. So if you are happy with this, we should go ahead. Anything you feel will help you coming to terms." Mike's voice was soft.

Steve nodded again and the strained features seemed to relax a little.

After a few minutes of silence, Mike turned around to Lenny, the spell was broken and it was back to business. "Well, my friend, what do you think? After all you are the expert."

"I completely agree, an assessment is called for. I'll have a word with the prison doctor tomorrow if you wish. But it will take time."

"And until we know what the story is with Swale, buddy boy, I'll keep a close eye on you!" Mike lightened the mood. "Who's for more coffee?" He went out to the kitchen to retrieve the coffee pot for refills.

Steve tried to shift into a more comfortable position, when he noticed the crinkling sound of paper being scrunched up in his pocket and remembered the letter he had put there, what seemed like an eternity ago. He pulled the envelope out and tore it open. His eyes scanned the short note and he let out a yelp. Mike came running with the coffee pot. Lenny jumped out of his path and deftly took the hot object out of Mike's hand and deposited it safely on the coffee table.

"Steve, what's the matter? Are you alright?" Mike's protective instincts went into overdrive. He couldn't make out the expression on Steve's face at all.

Steve looked at him wide eyed. "A death threat… Mike, I really have to take you up on your offer of protection now." He hid his face behind his hands and his shoulders were shaking. Mike took the sheet of paper out of Steve's trembling hand, but before he could read it Steve volunteered the information. "Oh man, oh man, now I remember why I was in such a hurry to go shopping on Friday. I had invited Cindy over… oh man, first of all I wasn't there when she came calling and then I didn't ring her to explain… Mike, you have to hide me for another few days until she has cooled down a bit."

Mike scrunched up the letter and threw the ball of paper at Steve. "You inconsiderate little pup! How could you do this?" he thundered.

Steve looked at him, surprised by the heated reaction. "I always thought you didn't like Cindy…" he replied meekly.

"Cindy? Who's talking about Cindy? You scared the crap out of me yelling about death threats. I should throw you to Cindy without mercy. The fright you gave me must have knocked off at least five years of my life expectancy." He ranted on. "Maybe I'll just rip off your head myself." He grabbed the back of Steve's neck and shook him affectionately.

_Yes, definitely all back to normal_… Lenny smiled and leaned back more comfortably.


End file.
